


Warning Sign

by puffvisionary



Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 16:33:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puffvisionary/pseuds/puffvisionary
Summary: Choi Minho is a mistake Taemin doesn't mean to make. He is a victim of circumstances. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time. But Taemin is going to let him down easy. Really, he is. Except that Minho is super stubborn and good and patient and charming and yeah, Taemin's taking a drastic measure for this one.(Or the one where Minho is willing to fight for him even though Taemin is just going to break his heart. Seriously. How does Minho not realize this?)





	Warning Sign

Frat parties are, in Taemin’s opinion, the absolute best thing in the history of college life everywhere ever. Honestly. There’s booze and boobs and hot guys and more booze and—he blinks, losing his train of thought for a second as the room roars once more, vibrating with the cheers from its occupants. Taemin follows along even though his muddled brain can no longer process anything that’s happening in this room. All he knows is that there’s going to be even _more_ fun and he needs to get even _more_ booze into his system. 

 

Working his way through the crowd, Taemin tries to focus his mind on one thing: the cocktail table. Everyone around him seems to have different ideas, though, because he keeps getting picked up, pulled along, and grinded on. Taemin is, however, nothing if not obsessively ambitious when he has a goal to achieve, so despite all the flirting and groping and twerking, he manages to reach his goal and reach for the shots lined up on the table by Jongin, who chastises him for drinking too much but still pouring the vodka to seemingly infinite amount of shot glasses.

 

Taemin downed about four of them, two from Jonghyun’s belly button—surprisingly deep, but nothing Taemin’s never seen before—and one from Junmyeon’s tongue. He’s grinning from ear to ear when Krystal pulls him to the dancefloor and they start moving along with the beat together. After a moment, Jongin joins them, and Taemin squeezes his shoulder on his way out of the crowd.

 

His head is spinning and his vision is blurry, but the dopey smile on his face is apparently permanent so Taemin doesn’t put much effort in controlling his expression. He makes his way to the dining room, wanting to search for some food. Something chocolate. Something cakey. He smiles even wider at the thought of chocolate cake and almost had a head-on collision with the fridge in his drunken excitement. He grapples for the handle and pulls it open, ignoring the commotion behind him, signaling that more people have decided to ditch the crowd and seek some solitude. Or food. Or maybe they’re heading to the bedrooms. Any of those.

 

There is no chocolate cake in the fridge, Taemin concludes dejectedly after he spent about 15 minutes poking his head in the fridge and scanning every single item in it with his barely-functioning eyes. There’s meat, and milk, and booze, and more booze, and ice cream, and even some vegetables, but there’s no chocolate cake. Cursing lowly to himself, Taemin pulls his head out of the fridge and closes it with more force than necessary. He turns around with the intention of raiding the counter for anything chocolatey, and runs straight to something warm and kind of hard. Taemin frowns, looking up to the unamused face of whoever it is standing on his way. His eyes take a while to focus, but when it does, Taemin’s smile turns into a leer.

 

“Choi Minho,” he purrs. Or at least he intends to. His voice comes out a bit higher than he’d like. Minho doesn’t seem to care, though. He also doesn’t seem to be drunk, which is a shame, because Taemin would like it very much if Minho was drunk. He leans closer to Minho, putting almost his entire weight onto the guy and running his fingertips down the vein on Minho’s gorgeous, biteable neck. “I’m crav—cravin’ for… some… choc—cholate— _chocolate_ ,” Taemin whispers, right next to his ear, grinning wide as his hand moves down to stroke Minho’s defined pecs and abs through his thin shirt. Taemin’s filled with the kind of giddiness his brain can only come up with when it’s marinating in alcohol soup, so he’s practically vibrating with joy when Minho puts his hands on his biceps—

 

—and pushes Taemin away.

 

Okay, yeah, no, that’s not going to happen. Nuh-uh.

 

“You’re drunk,” Minho exclaims shortly. Taemin snorts. What a smart boy. Taemin loves smart boys. Smart boys are sexy.

 

“And yo—your—you’ _re_ a genus—gens—genisus,” he shoots back, trying to put on his best seductive face. His facial muscles won’t cooperate, though, so it probably doesn’t look very good, judging from the slight wince Minho is giving him. “I’m not— _that_ drunk’n, y‘know?”

 

“Sure,” Minho says, trying to subtly move away. Taemin narrows his eyes and grips at Minho’s big, veiny forearm that would look so good next to Taemin’s head, supporting his own weight as he lies on top of Taemin and… and do _stuff_ to him. _God_ , Taemin wants Minho to do _stuff_ to him so bad.

 

“I… am ju—oh _hell no_ ,” Taemin’s befuddled mind is filled with white-hot rage as Heejun walks into the room, towing a pretty young thing along with him. They’re in the middle of an aggressive make-out session that puts all salivating dogs to shame. Taemin gags a little bit, but decides to ignore the pit of boiling anger inside him and opt to pull Minho down for his very own make-out session instead.

 

Minho makes a surprised noise that sounds not at all unattractive (no, really, even his _squeaks_ are hot) and just stands there as Taemin kisses the hell out of his mouth. After a few seconds, however, he starts to realize what’s going on and begins to reciprocate.

 

Even drunk as he is, Taemin can tell that Minho is a really, really good kisser. He kisses like he does everything else; obsessively competitive. Except that, thankfully, Minho seems to think of his kissing partner as a teammate instead of a rival, so he lets Taemin have his input and his time to shine. The kiss gets messier the longer they’re going at it, and by the time they both run out of breath, Minho has both his hands gripping Taemin’s ass, and Taemin has his right hand messing up Minho’s hair while the other goes up Minho’s shirt.

 

They’re simply standing together like that for a while before Taemin pulls Minho even closer, letting him get a feel of his rapidly growing erection through his favorite “tighter than a virgin’s ass” jeans (Jonghyun’s words. Taemin would _never_ be that crude ever _at all_ ). Minho lets out a breathy growl and moves to suck on Taemin’s neck instead, all hot air and warm, skilled lips. Throwing his head back, Taemin lets him have at it, grunting when Minho bites his neck as revenge to Taemin pulling his hair. Across the room, Heejun and the sloppy freshman is looking at them; the former with a knowing smirk and the latter with wide, unblinking eyes.

 

Taemin sneers at them both and takes the tip of Minho’s ear between his lips. “Bed,” he moans, a little louder than necessary. Minho grunts and pulls back, looking flushed and reckless and aroused as he pulls Taemin deeper into the house to look for an empty bedroom.

 

The last thing Taemin remembers is them shedding their clothes off and Minho pushing him to the bed and kissing the life out of him.

 

 

*

 

 

“So you slept with Choi Minho,” Jonghyun repeats, chugging another shot of espresso and downing two aspirins at once. Taemin harrumphs and pulls the sheet higher to block the sunlight that only makes his headache so much worse. “While you were drunk, and he was not, and then you left him in that frat house alone the next morning?”

 

Taemin grunts.

 

“Huh,” Jonghyun says, oddly chipper for someone who claims to have a hangover the size of Japan. Taemin turns around to give his back to Jonghyun, a clear sign that he is free to kindly get the fuck off Taemin’s bed. Jonghyun, as usual, ignores his displeasure and chooses to continue his line of pointless questioning. “How?”

 

“What,” Taemin snaps, then regrets it because his head feels like it’s shattering into tiny pieces.

 

“How the hell did you manage to sleep with him? I thought he was one of those one-night-stands-are-for-sluts-only people.”

 

“Ugh,” Taemin flips him the bird and kicks his additional pillow that’s somehow manages to get between his ankles. “Just. Fuck _off_ ,” he growls, pulling the blanket all the way up and goes right back to sleep.

 

When he wakes up, both Jonghyun and his hangover is gone, but there’s about a thousand missed calls from Kibum which means he’s heard of what happened and honestly, _fuck_ Jonghyun. Jesus.

 

He sends a quick text to Kibum, telling him that he doesn’t want to talk about it and could everyone _please_ mind their own business, before he jumps into the shower and immediately heads out to the rows of cafes right outside the campus ground.

 

Taemin immediately sets to entering his favorite American-style diner and settles on his usual table. The waiter greets him familiarly, offering their specials of the day, and smiles knowingly when Taemin orders the usual.

 

A few minutes later, because the universe hates Taemin, the second to last person he wants to see walks into the restaurant and somehow manages to find Taemin after a quick scan of the room. He approaches Taemin’s table and flops down right in front of him, smiling nervously.

 

“Hello,” Minho says, obviously trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible to avoid awkwardness. Taemin stares at him. “Fancy seeing you here.”

 

“Really?” Taemin snorts, taking a sip of his ice water because his mouth is suddenly so fucking dry once he catches sight of the fading hickeys on Minho’s neck. “Look, Choi, I’m sorry I pounced on you last night. It was a mistake and it won’t happen again.”

 

“I’m… well,” Minho licks his lips, looking a little out of place in his nervousness. Why the hell should _he_ be nervous, Taemin will never understand. “I’m sorry, too, for taking advantage of you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“I—wow. We’re both grown adults, man. Pretty sure I had as much sex as you did, so, there. Done and done. Nothing to fret about.” Minho looks like he’s about to say something to contradict Taemin’s statement, so Taemin does his best to come up with shit before Minho decides to start a rant about how he isn’t the type to have one night stands and so on and so forth. “Anyway, again, sorry for pouncing on you last night. I was drunk as shit and you were just _there_ and I figured, eh, why not, right?”

 

“Right,” Minho answers, a beat too late. He looks like he doesn’t quite know what to say, or what to do, and Taemin doesn’t have any intent to help him. “Well, still, it was not the best thing to do to just… you know. I apologize.”

 

“Apology accepted,” Taemin shrugs.

 

“And, uh, just so we’re clear—we didn’t have sex,” Minho gives him a tight-lipped smile as Taemin gapes at him. He waits for Taemin to finish shaking his head and sputtering before continuing. “We did get to the bed, and we did get our clothes off, but, um. You, uh… well. You fell asleep.”

 

“I— _what_?” Taemin almost yells, face turning an obnoxious shade of pink. Minho nods solemnly. “Seriously?”

 

“Yes, you were very drunk,” he shrugs, like it’s no big deal that his first technically-one-night-stand fell asleep in the middle of foreplay.

 

“Then why did you spend the night with me?” Taemin demands, frowning harder now. Minho doesn’t answer right away, instead opting to fiddle with the piece of décor on their table. “You _did_ spend the night with me, right? That wasn’t a body double I saw in the morning?”

 

“Yes, I—yes,” he sighs. “Well, you were drunk, I didn’t know your room, and it was a house full of drunken frat boys. I was worried that if I left you there, you’d be… well. You were vulnerable,” he shrugs again, this time a little stilted, like he isn’t quite sure how Taemin would react.

 

“Wow,” Taemin says, lips twitching. “My friends were right. You really _are_ an infuriatingly good guy.” He stares at Minho thoughtfully, studying him as if Minho’s some kind of insect that he’s preening at through a microscope and wonders what it’ll do next.

 

“Uh, thanks, I guess?” Minho grins, looking oddly sheepish all of a sudden. It’s a good look on him; makes him look younger and boyish, a step further from his usual prim and proper look. Taemin eyes him without a word.

 

Someone enters the restaurant just then, and Minho seems to recognize her because his face lights up and he stands immediately, waving at her before nodding when she points to a table on one corner, away from where they are right now. Turning back to Taemin, he thrusts his hand forward.

 

“I have an interview to attend to, so, I guess this is it,” he smiles when Taemin takes his hand and pumps it twice. “See you around?”

 

Taemin raises an eyebrow at him. “Maybe.”

 

 

*

 

 

After that particular encounter, Taemin feels like he keeps bumping into Minho _everywhere_. Not that he never noticed before, because seriously, how could he not notice? The guy is at least a head taller than most of everyone on campus, is hot as hell, and is famous for so much shit. Anyway, the point is, Taemin’s noticed him before, but not like _this_. Now, every time they so much as walk past each other, Minho makes it his business to go out of his way to greet Taemin.

 

It’s getting really annoying. Especially because his friends are all assholes who can’t shut the _fuck_ up and mind their own fucking business—

 

“ _Jesus,_ Kibum! Keep it in your panties, geez,” Taemin snaps after Kibum, for the millionth time, cooed over how adorable Minho is, trying to impress Taemin and all that. “He doesn’t have a… a _crush_ on me. Jesus, what are you, 6?” he makes a gagging noise and turns back to sulkily stabbing his pudding. 

 

“So what if he does, really? Minho is attractive, nice, and smart. I thought you like smart guys,” Jinki adds, stealing one of Kibum’s mangos and nibbles on it. Kibum agrees loudly.

 

“Well, I don’t like him, okay? I made out with him because—” Taemin sighs, wondering when telling the truth is a far kinder alternative than just letting his friends mock him. Usually, he’d let them have their way, but this time, it feels too real, too personal. He doesn’t want Minho overhear their teasing and make assumptions. If the guy really does have feelings for Taemin, he doesn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing. “Because Heejun was there, in the room, with us. He was with some slutty, drunk freshman. I was drunk, I was angry, Minho was _right there_ , so I kissed him. That’s that.”

 

“Whoa, _Heejun_ was there?” Jonghyun, who had _just_ plopped down next to Taemin, exclaims, as if he knows what they’re talking about at all. Then again, he probably does, the guy’s nosiness is professional level. “Damn, kid, no wonder you lost your shit.”

 

“Yeah, I’m not proud of it,” Taemin mutters, making a face at his ruined pudding before pushing it away. Heejun is one of the people he hates the most in the entire universe, and their feud—if it can be called that, since it seems mostly one-sided—begins two years ago, when Taemin was a bright-eyed freshman like every single one of Heejun’s victims. “Anyways, I’m gonna go practice until—well, until I either die of dehydration or finally able to forget Kim Heejun. Whichever comes first.”

 

“I’ll arrange your funeral,” Jinki lifts his milkshake as a salute, and Taemin huffs out a half-hearted laugh. Jonghyun pats his shoulder and scoots to take his place next to Kibum as soon as Taemin walks away.

 

Pulling the strap of his slowly sliding off backpack, Taemin makes a note to himself that today’s practice target is to practice so hard he’ll forget about Choi Minho. His traitorous brain tells him it would be harder than forgetting Heejun. Taemin tells his brain to shut up.

 

 

*

 

 

The concert is, for the lack of a better world, _spectacular_. Not everything went smoothly, of course, but all the routines were performed impeccably and the crowd was left thoroughly stunned and satisfied. Taemin is left with the pleasant ache of a job well done, and he’s grinning wide all the way from the stage to his team’s dressing room.

 

As soon as he opens the door, the smell of perfumes, sweat, and flowers hit his nose, making him slightly dizzy. He still lets out a delighted laugh, though, when his friends approach him with flowers and well-wishes and tells him they’ll be waiting outside for the celebration. He nods a few times and works his way through the crowd, hugging his teammates and shaking his friends’ hands. Quite a number of young professors are also in the room, mingling with the students and throwing compliments around. Taemin is still reeling with giddiness after a slap on the back and a pat on the shoulder from his favorite professors when someone taps him on the shoulder.

 

It’s Minho. Of _course_ it’s Minho.

 

“Hi, great show,” Minho smiles, holding a bouquet of sunflowers out towards Taemin, who takes it gingerly. “You were breathtaking up there. I’m really glad I came.”

 

“Thanks,” Taemin says distractedly, squinting at the sunflower as if they’re going to burst into flames or turn into a bunch of insects or something. In front of him, Minho is shoving his hands into the pockets of his obviously expensive coat and awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another. He looks nice, Taemin thinks, and he smells nice, like expensive perfume, the slight musk of sweat, and the distant smell of the indoor concert hall AC. “Glad you enjoyed the show.”

 

“Yeah, it was—it was wonderful,” Minho nods, opening and closing his mouth like he wants to say something but couldn’t quite get it out. Taemin raises an eyebrow at him. “Uh, so, I was wondering if, um. Would you like to go to dinner?”

 

Taemin blinks, opens his mouth, then realizes he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to say, and closes it again. “Um.”

 

“I mean, not tonight. I know you’re going to want to celebrate with your friends, and I hear they’re throwing a party for you guys on Saturday night, so… what about tomorrow? Friday night?” he offers, looking like he’s trying so hard to keep his expression cool when the hopefulness is blinding in his eyes. Taemin shifts uncomfortably.

 

“Uh, sure,” he says finally, forcing out a smile while his brain yells at him about what the hell is he doing, getting the poor guy’s hopes up through the fucking roof. “Friday night.”

 

“Yes, Friday night,” Minho nods, smiling. “It’s a date,” he says, looking pleased with himself. Taemin lets out an awkward laugh, but Minho doesn’t seem to notice as he’s slowly moving away, giving way to the new crowd of people who wants to congratulate Taemin.

 

By the time the crowd clears out, Minho is gone.

 

 

*

 

 

“You said _yes_? Oh, Taemin, I thought you said you don’t want to date him!” Kibum frowns at him, which is really, really unfair because they should be smiling and laughing and celebrating Taemin’s success, not judging his life choices.

 

“I didn’t want to break the guy’s heart! He brought me _flowers!_ ” he shoots back defensively. Kibum just looks at him, unimpressed.

 

“And he won’t be heartbroken when he found out that you were just using him to get back your stupid ex? And that you only said yes because you felt sorry for him?” Kibum is pushing all the right buttons and Taemin kind of wants to smack him and tell him to shut up, except that it would end in tears and he really doesn’t want to start crying at his own celebratory dinner.

 

“Well!” Taemin yells at him, because he has nothing else to say. He turns back to his steak and Kibum glares at him for a full two minutes before he finally lets out a dejected sigh and turns back to his food.

 

 

*

 

 

The date with Minho starts off as cliché as Taemin can possibly imagine. The guy picks him up outside of his dorm building with a sleek white Santa Fe that smells like pine trees, hands him a single red rose with a teasing smile, looking adorably amused when Taemin takes the flower and stores it in his breast pocket.

 

They’re off to a gorgeous little bistro on one corner of a street Taemin’s never been in. Minho seems to know the place well, because as soon as they walk through the door, the waiter ushers them to a corner booth where they won’t be bothered, asks Taemin for any allergies, and informs them that their specials will be here soon. Taemin is kind of impressed.

 

“You here a lot?” Taemin asks, if only to break the ice. Minho looks up from his phone—a strange little contraption Taemin is totally unfamiliar with—and nods.

 

“Yeah, used to come here with my mom. She used to visit a lot,” he types something into his phone, frowning, before shoving it back into his pocket. “Sorry, I wanted to leave my work phone at home, but… well.”

 

“Busy guy, I get it,” Taemin assures him, smiling easily. It’s been a while since he’s in a proper date, and he can’t really say he misses it. Dating requires a lot of effort and patience that one night stands just don’t. Taemin is all about not putting any effort in his personal life.

 

“The food is good here, really,” Minho tells him, as if Taemin’s going to refuse food at all. Taemin hums and looks around. This place isn’t exactly his kind of restaurant, and he’s silently glad that he doesn’t have to look at either the menu or the price list, because that would probably make him very uncomfortable.

 

“I’ll bet,” Taemin says distractedly. “So, uh, I don’t really know you, aside from the fact that you’re a senior, majoring in Business Management, and is very busy.”

 

“That’s what a date is for, isn’t it?” Minho grins. Taemin huffs a small, awkward laugh. “I’m from Incheon, here with a scholarship. I’m currently working on my thesis and working as Professor Jang’s research assistant. I used to play basketball in school, but I don’t have time for practice so I couldn’t make it into the team here. I spend most of my time in my room and in meetings. You?”

 

“I, uh. I dance,” Taemin fires him a quick smile before looking away, pretending to be interested in the framed photographs on the wall. Minho is still looking at him expectantly, a steady smile on his face. Taemin pointedly ignores him, hoping that he will, finally, take the hint and decide that Taemin is not a potential—or even willing—romantic partner. Then they will wrap this date up and never see each other again until both of them graduate and Taemin can shrug the whole thing off as a stupid college stunt without feeling too guilty about it.

 

“That’s Istanbul,” Minho says suddenly. Taemin blinks and turns to him.

 

“What?”

 

“The photos,” Minho gestures at the rows of frames with his glass. “They were taken in Istanbul, right where Constantinople used to be. Gorgeous city.”

 

Taemin hums, turning back to the photos to study them for real. Now that he finally takes a good look of them, they _do_ look dreamy; the architecture caught on camera looks like something out of a darkened fantasy. “Huh. You’ve been, then?”

 

Minho hesitates for a beat too long before he smiles. “I took them.”

 

Taemin’s eyebrows meet his hairline at that. “No.”

 

Minho grins, looking somewhat proud. “Yes.”

 

Their food arrives a second later, and the waiter arranges the plates while explaining eagerly, wanting to let “Minho’s boyfriend” know every detail of the food they presented and which ones Minho liked the best. Minho is hiding his face behind his hand the whole time, shoulders shaking with laughter, while Taemin turns red at the attention.

 

Finally, the waiter—who introduced himself as Mr. Reis—nods at them and scurries off, smiling when Minho thanks him with an amused grin. 

 

“Wow,” Taemin says after a few seconds. Minho snorts.

 

“Yeah, sorry. He’s just,” Minho waves a hand in a vague gesture, unable to find the proper word. “I’m one of his favorite regulars.”

 

“Oh no, really? I can’t tell,” Taemin shoots sarcastically, while Minho laughs and stabs a piece of vegetable with his fork. They begin to eat, then, and Minho goes on to tell him about Istanbul, and Taemin, for all that he’s determined to show how uninterested he is, listens.

 

It doesn’t dawn on him that he’s supposed to be giving Minho signals that he’s not interested until Minho drops him off in front of his dorm room, asks if he’d like to get coffee sometime, and smiles at the dazed ‘yes’ Taemin blurts out.

 

Taemin wants to take it back, but as he stares at the handsome smile on Minho’s face, he decides to swallow back his words. He can always put a raincheck on that coffee until Minho gives up. Yeah, that’s a better alternative.

 

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, yeah, I hope I didn't mess up too badly. This is a really old draft that I never touched before this, so, if it's a bit rusty, that's my excuse.
> 
> This fanfiction is cross-posted on AFF.


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